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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708444">a word that's quiet, not half the way there</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemebaretrees/pseuds/givemebaretrees'>givemebaretrees</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, M/M, geralt does not talk about his feelings, jaskier has much to say about his own. and geralt's</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:28:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemebaretrees/pseuds/givemebaretrees</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They had met again on the road. It was always on the road. Geralt was always on the road, looking for beasties that went bump in the night, and Jaskier was always on the road, looking for…</p><p>Well, Geralt, maybe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a word that's quiet, not half the way there</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Oh, La by Ra Ra Riot.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaskier plucked out something formless on the lute as they walked. It might become a song by the next town—or part of it might, anyway, if Jaskier happened across a particularly catchy set of notes as he looked at the right tree branch and put the right thought to the tune.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked up at Geralt on the horse. Geralt was eyeing some tree branch as though he half-expected it to open a pair of eyes and swing a sword at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some things don’t change. Geralt looked down at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think I could maybe ride behind you?” asked Jaskier, knowing that it would do no good. “We could get to the next town faster…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt stopped the horse. Jaskier almost tripped.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” said Geralt, and Jaskier scrambled up, never one to look a gift from Geralt in the… oh, well, whatever.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he didn’t let his hopes ride on it. Cautious, he put his hands on Geralt’s shoulders, judging it to be the safest place and since Geralt didn’t complain he had to assume that he was correct. In the end, they didn’t exactly get to the next town faster, but Jaskier’s aching feet were desperately grateful for the relief, because he sure as hell wasn’t twenty any more, and it meant that he didn’t mind standing up for longer to present his song in the tavern.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which was fortunate, as they had exactly zero funds, and, since Geralt would have been pretty content to roll up some hay around himself in a stable until he was kicked out, it fell to Jaskier to find them a place to sleep where they would not need to worry about horseshit in their hair. The first two inns had already worked out arrangements with itinerant travelers such as themselves, but the third, and, frankly, the most shabby of all of them, had a serving girl who’d quit just days before, and they were struggling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My friend and I would be happy to dishes for you, madame, if you would but grace us with a room and board?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He that Witcher?” asked the madame in question.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fabled in song?” asked Jaskier, pleased.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The one what killed the griffin up near Blackbough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Close enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The very same!” said Jaskier, proudly, as if he’d been there himself. He hadn’t, but he’d added the verse to his song nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We got something weird on the edge of town,” said the madame. “I think they’re offering a reward for it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaskier, delighted at the prospect of not having to do dishes, nodded eagerly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m Branwen, and if you take care of it—<em>and</em> do my dishes—I’ll let you sleep here as long as you like, no need to pay me. But the room I’ve got has only one bed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Damn. But it was a deal, nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Done, but you drive a hard bargain, Madame Branwen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And they shook on it, and Geralt rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They had met again on the road. It was always on the road. Geralt was always on the road, looking for beasties that went bump in the night, and Jaskier was always on the road, looking for…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, Geralt, maybe.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t that he had spent his whole <em>life</em> pining. It wasn’t like he’d met a man on his doorstep as he’d made his way into the big wide world and that had been <em>it </em>for Jaskier’s heart. No, he’d only met a man on his doorstep as he’d made his way into the big wide world and spent ten years singing about him, and casting him as a dashing romantic hero, until the man was nearly unrecognizable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or so Jaskier thought. People tended to recognize Geralt in them anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But along the way he’d had a few good years with one patron or another, and he’d stay in a place long enough to rack up a reputation. He had loved a few women, and a few more men. Not <em>all</em> of his songs were for Geralt. But a good many of them were, and a good many of the breakups he’d had were a result of Geralt, too, whether or not the other party knew it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was something to love in everyone. Jaskier believed that to be so. There was also just <em>more</em> to love in Geralt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anyway, Jaskier had found Geralt again. They didn’t spend time catching up on each other’s exploits, usually. In fact this time there had been very little catching up done, as Geralt had been on the verge of exhaustion. It was early morning, which meant that fewer beasties and ghoulies would be trying to eat either of them. Jaskier assumed that Geralt had been wandering through the night like a madman.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, if Geralt had his own medicine, Jaskier could tie on a bandage, which was fortunate, because Geralt had been practically catatonic. Jaskier had stripped Geralt of his shirt, all very clinical and professional, thank you very much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Point to what I should use,” said Jaskier, opening up Geralt’s bag. Geralt pointed at something small in a silvery, bulbous vial. He pulled the cork off, and sniffed it, although Geralt usually yelled at him for doing that. It smelled like ribleaf.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt pointed to a rag, too, and Jaskier put the cork back on, shook the vial, and dumped some of the potion onto the rag.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Didn’t think it was really you,” said Geralt, after a moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt stuck out his arm, which had a nasty-looking gash running from wrist to elbow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, who else would it be? Are there any other handsome bards who would see you on the side of the road and dash to your aid?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” said Geralt, “but the poultice I gave you to use on my arm is supposed to help with the hallucinatory effects of certain kinds of venom.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaskier had gone past the initial wrapping of the worst wound, and was now working on cleaning up the more minor scrapes and scratches. He was finding that, mostly, there was a great deal of dried blood on Geralt, and not a lot of open wounds besides the first, which, he supposed, was good. But there was a messy cut over Geralt’s eye, too, and Jaskier dabbed at it gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt was watching him from under the cut. And of course he was, there was nowhere else for him to look, but that didn’t make it easy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, do you still think you’re hallucinating me?” said Jaskier, and it came out rougher and quieter than he meant for it to. Geralt blinked first, and Jaskier blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “My father had hunting dogs. All smelly and standoffish and proud.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm. This is <em>not</em> convincing me that the venom has been neutralized.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I loved them,” said Jaskier, “they had terribly soft ears, and perfect tails for pulling, all white at the end like they had been dipped in paint. And they did not, under any circumstances, wish to be embraced.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Another man might take offense.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Believing himself to be in perfect safety, Jaskier continued.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got nipped more than a few times,” said Jaskier. “Never seriously. Always a warning, what they could do if they were let loose. If they were injured, my father always told me to leave them alone. Said you can’t touch an injured dog, it’ll bite your hand off, no matter how much it loves you any other day of the week.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you never learned your lesson, did you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaskier tilted Geralt’s chin up, and turned his face so that he could more easily see if he’d gotten all of Geralt’s wounds patched up. Geralt let himself be turned, and Jaskier tried not to shiver.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” said Jaskier. “Yes, that’s it, I’m afraid. And now I go after injured wolves.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt closed a hand around Jaskier’s wrist, just the barest pressure holding his hand where it was.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t bite.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a shame,” said Jaskier, lightly, and Geralt let go of his wrist like Jaskier had burned him. Something shot its way through Jaskier’s heart, swifter than any arrow and sharper than steel. It would have to be examined later, although Jaskier knew exactly what it was. When he spoke again, he spoke lightly. “All set.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You won’t even pick up my herbs and decoctions,” said Geralt, as if nothing had happened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>I</em> did the work. <em>You</em> can do the cleaning,” said Jaskier, and he picked up his lute, and wandered over to give Roach some friendly nose pats.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They had been together since then. Longer than usual this time around, too. Really, Jaskier was getting too old for these casual sort of hookups and dalliances all over the countryside. Or so he thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of course, he hadn’t been able to tell Geralt to go on without him, so there was that, too.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaskier found the alghoul in the forest. Presumably this was the “something in the woods” mentioned by the innkeeper, or so Jaskier desperately hoped, because surely there couldn’t be more horrible things out here, so he hightailed it out of there. His heart pounded like he was twenty again, and seeing Geralt for the first time in a dim tavern, only now he was vaulting over tree branches and mud puddles and anything that would have knocked him over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Geralt! <em>Geralt!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt had been danger back then, all doom and gloom and a frown like a crack in a cobblestone. Some things don’t change. Geralt still had that frown. Jaskier didn’t have to make it far—he just had to put Geralt between himself and the alghoul, and he collapsed on the ground, trying not to think about the crunching sound his lute had made.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why is it always me who finds them?” he asked, before he could be sure that he could breathe. He regretted it instantly, because at the moment, he couldn’t figure out whether he could get enough air, or if he was going to vomit, or if his heart was going to burst out of his chest, or if his legs were going to fall off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt was busy doing some impressive stabbing maneuvers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Jaskier stopped feeling like he was going to need to claw out his own throat to get enough air, he sat up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt was wiping his blade off on the ground. Jaskier took a look at the thing that had once been an alghoul, and was now a sort of pulpy mess, and tried not to vomit again, but in a “that’s gross” way, and not a “I haven’t run this hard or fast in ten years” way, this time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Variety! That was what being around Geralt got a man.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re always the one who finds them because you wander around plucking at your lute. They’re interested. They go looking.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, so it’s my fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt dragged his arm across his face, likely in an effort to smear some of the blood elsewhere, but Jaskier couldn’t say if it worked or not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, if I didn’t practice,” Jaskier said, “then who would—my <em>lute!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Too late, the crunching sound it had made when he hit the ground returned to mind. He pulled it off his back, and examined it closely in the moonlight. The strings were out of tune—not a surprise—but the lute itself seemed to be unharmed, or at least, not so harmed that the problem could be seen in moonlight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which probably meant it could be fixed, if there was anything wrong.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s it look?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine,” said Jaskier, too glad at first to notice that Geralt had, in fact, asked about something, of his own volition. Then he <em>did</em> notice, and tried to ignore his traitorous heart speeding up in his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” said Geralt, like it mattered—like he <em>cared</em>. Whatever small parts of Jaskier’s horrible traitorous heart were left after years and years of Geralt’s abandonment <em>ached</em>. “I’m glad.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then, Geralt kissed him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaskier was kissing him back before he even knew what was happening. It would have been hard not to, in truth. Geralt kissed the way that he did everything else—you could <em>feel</em> the frown in it, and practically hear him rooting his feet to the ground, stubborn as all hell. Jaskier, too, felt like he’d been anchored.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It should have been stifling. It wasn’t, and Geralt, with his crushing grip, surrounded Jaskier. He moaned, and that seemed to spur Geralt on. <em>Good man</em>, thought Jaskier, though he was too busy trying to fuck Geralt’s mouth with his own to say it aloud.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” said Jaskier, when Geralt seemed to step back to breathe, but Geralt seemed to take his word for a command. Jaskier felt himself pushed up against the nearest tree, while he dug underneath Geralt’s doublet with his fingertips and nails, in Geralt’s back. Geralt hitched Jaskier’s legs up around his own waist and Jaskier, never one to waste an opportunity, rolled his hips against Geralt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If anything had happened to you—” Geralt said, and Jaskier moaned again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? You <em>cared?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wanted to hear Geralt say it, wanted that more than anything, wanted it enough to let the words pour out of him. Half disbelief, waiting to be proven wrong, and half begging to hear confirmation. Pride was all very well and good, but when it came to Geralt between his legs and whispering in his ear about his <em>feelings</em>, Jaskier supposed that his pride could go fuck itself for a little while, so Jaskier could get some too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I fucking cared,” said Geralt, “you—<em>you’re</em>—my only—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whatever Jaskier was, whatever <em>only</em> belonged to Geralt, was lost in Geralt spilling. And Jaskier, who could not keep quiet at even the best of times, cried out when he realized what the warmth was at his sides. Geralt took pity on him, and stuck a hand down his trousers, until Jaskier was fucking into his hand, and then the two of them were a mess.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Good thing they’d spent the whole evening rolling around in mud, anyway. And Geralt had some extra kerchiefs.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whatever had happened in the woods, it wasn’t worth talking about on their way back to the tavern, and when they got into the tavern, Jaskier almost half-believed it hadn’t even happened at all. When they got in, the crowds saw his lute, and begged for a song, and that was that. Whatever spell had been between them was broken, written over by the swell of a crowd with the promise of a song in their hearts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he played in the tavern, upbeat and charming, once he’d taken stock of his lute and found that it really was fine. Then someone taught him a local ballad, and he made harmonies up for it on the spot. The taverngoers cried, and didn’t kick him out, which he supposed meant that it was the good kind of crying and he’d done well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then a round of Geralt’s song, just for fun. By the end of it, they were pouring him ale, and Jaskier imagined that there was something of a flush on his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the end of the evening, Geralt was dozing off in the corner, and trying to pretend he wasn’t, and Jaskier had to lift him up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Which looked more like Jaskier tugging at Geralt’s arm, around which he likely could not have fit both hands, and receiving about as much give as any man would have gotten from a statue.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“C’mon,” Jaskier said, “your evening’s not done yet.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt looked up, and if Jaskier had thought that what they had done in the woods was forgotten during the course of his time on stage, he knew it was not by the way that Geralt’s eyes traveled him up and down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm—? Oh, dishes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another impressive eyeroll, and Jaskier dragged him down into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, it’s really very good that I studied Velen’s styles of music,” said Jaskier, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn piece of broccoli which had attached itself to the plate like a limpet. “Otherwise I really don’t think that tonight would have gone so well once we got back, and then where would we be? You should really thank me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“People linked by destiny will always find each other,” said Geralt, and wasn’t it just like him to not have been listening at all!</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jaskier just about threw up his hands, but remembered that they were full of plates and mugs and things that would probably get chipped if they landed on the floor, and there was still a few sips of ale in one of the mugs stacked by the sink. He didn’t remember whose it had been, but he was considering it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, so, you’re <em>stuck</em> with me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fine! He could roll with the punches! Whatever kind of conversational about-faces Geralt could throw at him, he could handle! Cautiously, so as not to drop any chicken bones or dirty forks on the floor, he brought the mug to his lips and downed the rest of the ale.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>No</em>.” Geralt had that look on his face again, like every word was painful. “We’re not. I don’t think so, anyway. You find me because you look for me—or I find you because… I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>like</em> you,” said Jaskier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” said Geralt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, <em>you</em> find <em>me </em>because—are you saying you <em>look</em> for me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ye gods, Jaskier was never going to live this down. He wished he’d listened to his mother and never become a bard. Or, he could have married that nice marquess, or at least stuck around to be her patron. She didn’t have any problem talking, whatsoever. Never looked constipated when saying so much as a morning <em>hello, </em>after even the most adventurous night.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Yes</em>,” said Geralt. He did not seem to have noticed that he had stopped in the hallway, no matter how exasperated his voice and angry-eyebrows said he was. Jaskier noticed that he had stopped with Geralt, and did not care.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, you’re not an obvious man,” said Jaskier, noting Geralt’s flushed cheeks as well, and the way that he did not want to look at Jaskier. In fact, all of Jaskier’s senses—despite all prior experience to the contrary—were telling him that Geralt’s confessing mood was not over yet. He had bragged about his closeness to the legendary witcher in the past. He had not ever imagined… “You can just tell a man you like him, and be done with it. Don’t I do it to you all the time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do it to <em>everyone</em>,” said Geralt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s something to like in everyone,” said Jaskier, “well, usually, anyway, not always on those greasy thugs who tend to want to run you out of town, but somebody likes them, don’t they, presumably at least some of those bloody children they think you’ll corrupt just by being in the same air must look up to them. Or, presumably, some of the women who bore the aforesaid children. Then again, you really do smell of onion, and horse, so maybe they just don’t want their children to think it’s okay to go for so long without bathing—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Never mind,” said Geralt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, wait, I <em>do </em>mind,” said Jaskier. “I do very much mind, thank you. Say it again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“People linked by destiny will always find each other—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Not</em> that!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—so, when I look for you, I never know if I’m going to find you. I never know if I’ll see you again. I’ll always wonder if the last time I saw you was <em>it</em> for us. I’m not—I don’t think I’m stuck with you, and that frightens me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt looked like he was going to keep talking, and it took Jaskier a moment to realize that he wasn’t. Geralt’s eyes—yellow cat eyes—met Jaskier’s. Jaskier suddenly needed to be holding a great deal fewer dirty dishes, and a great deal more Geralt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” said Jaskier, taking a leaf out of Geralt’s book, and not responding directly to the emotional outpouring in front of him. He turned, pushed open the door to the kitchen, and put his dishes in the sink, and when he turned back, Geralt was still standing there, mouth agape and a stormcloud gathering somewhere between his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Perhaps it had been a bad idea, Jaskier thought, to fail to immediately reward the one time that Geralt talked about his feelings. The ones that he pretended that he didn’t have, because for all the life that he could remember, people assumed he didn’t have them, and treated him accordingly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come here,” said Jaskier, too sharply, only it was himself that he was annoyed with, and Geralt, clutching his dishes closer to himself, stomped into the kitchen. Jaskier pointed, and Geralt dropped them in the sink, with a terrible clatter. There was a pause in the clamor of voices in the other room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, now look what you’ve done,” said Jaskier, and when Geralt turned to him, Jaskier leaned up and cupped his chin in his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A sweet kiss, with Jaskier thinking of how Geralt had said <em>I look for you</em>, thinking of the catch in Geralt’s voice at <em>that frightens me, </em>with Jaskier putting as much into it as he could before—Geralt sprang away from him, and, taking his cues from the man with better hearing, so did Jaskier, just as the kitchen door opened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You two all right in here?” asked Branwen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, perfectly fine,” said Jaskier. “Thank you very much. Sometimes we have to remind him that dishes aren’t to be bashed like a necrophage. Isn’t that right, Geralt? Anyway, we just finished checking, we haven’t broken any of your dishes. My sincerest apologies for my companion.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Branwen laughed, and Jaskier was proud of it. Geralt rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can return to your other guests,” said Geralt, and Branwen nodded, and thankfully shut the door behind herself again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that could have gone worse,” said Jaskier, as soon as she was out of earshot. “Really, you could have just <em>put</em> them in the sink.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Geralt glared at him. Jaskier laughed and kissed him again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I broke a plate,” said Geralt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then we’d better do something about it, hadn’t we?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the end, what they did was: leave a note promising that ten crowns of the reward money would go to Branwen once it was distributed, and sneak up to their room with its one bed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which Jaskier did not let Geralt leave until late morning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aren’t you glad I didn’t let you sleep in a stable? Isn’t it nice to not have horseshit in your hair?” asked Jaskier, as noon approached. It was frankly getting sweaty in this room, and the noonday sun was far too bright, but Jaskier was dealing with it by keeping a pillow over the top of his face.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” said Geralt (some things really don’t change), but then he plucked up the pillow and kissed Jaskier, so it was all right.</span>
</p>
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